MANY  METERS 


GIFT 


1864-1934 


Choragus 
Uhiv.  Of  California 


X 


H^1 

tuSr^ 


MANY  MOODS  AND  MANY  METERS. 


"//  ain't  so  much  fer  the  polish  ef  a  feller 
onjv  writes  suthin*  at  amuses  us,  an*  gives  us  a 
cbanst  to  share  a  smile  with  one'n  notber  when 
we  sets  down  bv  the  roadside  of  life  to  rest  up  a 
bit." 

The  Sage  of  Mudville . 


TO  MY   WIFE. 


MANY  MOODS  AND 
MANY   METERS 


BY 
GEORGE  V.  HOBART 


BALTIMORE: 
GUGGENHEIMER,  WEIL  &  CO. 


I899. 


Copyright  1898, 

By  George  V.  Hobart. 

AH  Rights  Reserved. 


/^ 


^ 
ffff 


77>£  Author  takes  this  opportunity  of  tendering 
his  thanks  to  General  Felix  A 'gnus ,  publisher  of 
the  Baltimore  American,  and  to  Mr.  Charles  H. 
Grasty,  President  of  tlw  Evening  News  Publishing 
Company,  for  their  permission  to  use  much  of 
the  matter  contained  in  this  volume. 


Baltimore,  November  2$tb,  1898. 


MANY  MOODS  AND  MANY  METERS. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 

His  Heroes i 

Jim.  4 

Hoi'  Dem  Phillupines 6 

The  Song  of  the  Seven 8 

"  I  Was  On  The  Merrimac." « 

Lines  to  Admiral  Cervera -••  13 

Past  and  Present 15 

Katarina  Knits i? 

Lines  to  Admiral  Von  Diederichs 20 

The  Phantoms 23 

Net 25 

Tom  Bushby— Corp'ral 28 

In  Nineteen  Hundred  and  Eight 31 

Nature's  Decoration  Day 34 

Kfening  Fancies 37 

Do  You  Know  Blinkins  ? 39 

Nesca 42 

My  Lady  at  the  Play 43 

The  Fickle  Frog 45 

Hot  Weather  Wishes 48 

The  Newsboy's  Story 51 

The  Mythical  Santa  Claus 53 

A  Darktown  Lullaby 56 

Some  Folks , 58 


PAGE 

DeGroun'  Hog 60 

The  Songs  Mah  Mammy  Sung 62 

The  Shadows  and  the  Sun 65 

A  Murmur  From  Mudville 68 

Yesterday  and  Today 71 

Widow  Jones'  Jimmy 74 

Journalism  in  Mudville 77 

Uncle  Joshua's  Jubilee  Ode 80 

The  Hero  in  Rags 83 

My  I^edle  Fritz 87 

Jeems 89 

Das  Kleine  Kind 92 

Fritz  Von  Snitz 94 

Der  I^eedle  Varriors 96 

My  Board  of  Inquiry 99 

Tommy's  Christmas  Tree 102 

The  Wee  One's  Wishes 104 


MANY    MOODS    AND    MANY    METERS. 

T 

HIS  HEROES. 


SAID  Uncle  Josh,  "  Yes,  Dewey's  great  ; 
I  like  the  way  he  fit  firs'-rate. 

"I  like  that  feller  Sampson,  too; 
He  seems  to  know  jus'  what  to  do. 

"En  also  there's  a  heap  in  Schley; 
Seems  like  he's  got  a  eagle  eye. 

"That  young  chap  Hobson  knows  his  biz; 
He's  brave  as  kin  be — that  he  is. 

"En  Watson,  with  his  flyin'  fleet, 
Guess  he  could  do  the  job  complete. 

"I  like  to  read  about  them  chaps 

As  sports  them  purty  shoulder-straps. 

"Jus'  makes  me  cut  a  pigeon-wing 
When  they  turn  loose  an'  let  'er  fling. 


HIS  HEROES. 


"But  'tain't  them  folks  as  makes  me  yell 
En  lose  my  senses  fer  a  spell. 

"It  ain't  them  folks  as  makes  me  shout 
Till  all  the  villagers  turns  out. 

"It  ain't  them  ad-my-rals — no,  sir! — 
That  makes  the  old  blood  in  me  stir. 

"It  ain't  them  commydores  'n'  sich 
That  makes  the  muscles  in  me  twitch. 

"It  ain't  them  captains  peart  en  brave 
That  makes  my  old  voice  misbehave. 

"It's  them  that  offers  life,  brave  chaps, 
Without  no  hope  of  shoulder-straps. 

"It's  them  that  works  with  grimy  breasts 
En  stands  war's  worst  en  hardest  tests. 

"It's  them  that  cracks  a  cheerful  joke 

En  shows  their  smiles  through  cannon-smoke. 

"It's  them  there  naked,  fearless  boys, 
A-workin'  in  that  hell  of  noise, 


HIS  HEROES. 


"En  pushin'  Death  aside  to  say, 

'Git  out!    You're  always  in  the  way/ 

"A-shootin*  with  so  true  an  aim 
That  makes  Old  Glory  glad  it  came. 

"Them  is  the  boys  fer  Uncle  Josh — 
The  boys  behind  the  guns,  b'gosh!" 


JIM. 

I  HEAR  the  drum  roll,  rub-a-dub,  dub, 
And  the  piccolo's  shrill  refrain; 
The  boys  in  blue  with  hearts  so  true 

Are  marching  home  again. 
I  hear  the  drum,  but  it  beats  for  me 

Despair  and  griefs  tattoo; 
I'd  be  so  glad  if  our  only  lad — 
Our  Jim — poor  Jim — marched,  too! 

I  hear  the  tramp,  the  tramp,  tramp,  tramp, 

Of  the  army  marching  by; 
Brave  soldiers  all,  at  their  country's  call 

They  went  to  fight  and  die. 
Their  task  is  done;   with  heads  erect 

They  pass  there  in  review; 
Instead  of  tears  I'd  give  them  cheers 

If  Jim — poor  Jim — marched,  too! 


JIM. 


I  hear  the  clank,  the  clank,  clank,  clank, 

Of  the  swords  of  Captains  gay; 
But  my  worn  eyes  rest  on  the  blood-stained  crest 

Of  a  hill  far,  far  away. 
They  left  him  there  where  the  weeping  winds 

Sing  dirges  faint  and  few — 
They're  home — God's  light!     How  grand  the  sight 

If  Jim — poor  Jim — marched,  too! 


HOL'  DEM  PHILIPPINES! 

MISTAH  DEWEY,  yo's  all  right, 
Hoi1  dem  Phillupines! 
Made  yo'  point,  an*  won  yo'  fight, 

Hoi'  dem  Phillupines! 
If  dem  natives  get  too  gay 
Make  dem  walk  de  Spanish  way, 
Show  dem  dat  you's  come  to  stay, 
Hoi'  dem  Phillupines! 

Doctah  Dewey,  doan'  yo'  care, 
Hoi'  dem  Phillupines! 

Let  dat  German  ge'man  swear, 
Hoi'  dem  Phillupines! 

Reckon  dat  you  saw  dem  first; 

Jus'  yo'  say  to  wienerwurst, 

"Come  en  take  dem  if  yo'  durst!" 
Hoi'  dem  Phillupines! 


HOL     DEM    PHILIPPINES. 


'Fessor  Dewey,  yo'  is  wa'm, 

Hoi'  dem  Phillupines! 
Reckon  yo'  can  ride  de  sto'm, 
Hoi'  dem  Phillupines! 
Tell  him  dat  yo'  will  not  grieve 
If  ol'  Diederichs  should  leave — 
Keep  dat  razzer  up  yo'  sleeve, 
Hoi'  dem  Phillupines! 

A'm'al  Dewey,  watch  yo'  kyards, 
Hoi'  dem  Phillupines! 

Folks  all  sen*  yo'  best  regyards, 
Hoi'  dem  Phillupines! 

Make  dem  'fo'iners  lay  low; 

Ef  dey  'sist  to  pester  so, 

Make  dem  take  dah  clothes  en  go, 
Hoi'  dem  Phillupines! 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  SEVEN. 

I'LL  spin  you  a  yarn, 
Said  the  old  Jack  Tar, 
"I'll  spin  you  a  yarn,"  said  he; 
"An*  it  ain't  no  tale 
Of  a  screechin'  gale 
That  yells  fer  joy  as  it  splits  a  sail, 
An'  swashes  the  briny  over  the  rail; 
It  ain't — but,  lad,  it's  a  movin'  tale; 
It's  a  movin'  tale,"  said  he. 

"One  bloomin'  night," 

Said  the  old  Jack  Tar, 

"One  bloomin'  black  night,"  said  he, 

"The  battleships  lay 

Near  the  Dago  Bay, 

Near  the  mouth  of  the  channel  to  Dago  Bay; 
An1  eight  brave  chaps  they  swore  to  belay 
All  chance  of  the  Spaniards  gettin'  away 

From  the  Dago  Bay/'  said  he. 


THE   SONG    OF    THE    SEVEN. 


"These  eight  brave  chaps," 

Said  the  old  Jack  Tar, 

"Sheared  off  in  the  gloom/'  said  he; 

An*  Davy  Jones 

He  rattled  his  bones — 

(We  listened  an'  heard  his  dismal  groans) — 
'I've  got  'em,'  says  Dave,  in  deep-sea  tones — 
He's  a  knowin'  old  cuss,  is  Davy  Jones, 

Is  Davy  Jones,"  said  he. 

"But  the  eight  sailed  on," 

Said  the  old  Jack  Tar, 

"Sailed  up  to  the  guns,"  said  he; 

"They  sailed  so  well 

That,  truth  to  tell, 

They  sunk  their  ship  in  the  channel's  swell, 
To  keep  them  Spaniards  there  a  spell — 
'Twas  a  night  in  the  fo'c'sle  deck  of  hell, 
A  night  in  hell,"  said  he. 

"But  days  have  passed," 

Said  the  old  Jack  Tar, 

"An'  it's  different  now,"  said  he; 

"Of  the  eight  brave  chaps 

The  shoulder-straps, 


IO  THE    SONG    OF    THE    SEVEN. 


He  gets  shore  leave  an'  he  packs  his  traps 
(The  Cap'n  he  orders  it  so,  perhaps), 
An*  the  girls  fer  him  they  sets  their  caps — 
They  sets  their  caps,"  said  he. 

"He's  wined  and  dined," 

Said  the  old  Jack  Tar, 

"But  what  of  the  Seven?"  said  he. 

"Now  a  pretty  Miss 

An*  a  long-shore  kiss, 
A  rousin'  smack  of  a  soundin'  kiss, 
To  a  plain  young  Jack  ain't  none  amiss; 
But  the  Seven  don't  seem  to  be  in  on  this — 

Ain't  in  on  this,"  said  he. 

"Who  beached  the  Seven?" 

Said  the  old  Jack  Tar, 

"Who  doused  their  glim?"  said  he. 

"Fergot  by  Fame! 

It's  a  bloomin'  shame — 
I  say  it's  the  devil's  own  bloomin'  shame 
That  you  can't  call  out  the  Seven  by  name. 
Come  on,  now,  hearties,  name  the  same — 

Can  you  name  the  same?"  said  he. 


"I  WAS  ON  THE  MERRIMAC" 

I    WAS  on  the  Merrimac  " —    "  No  more,"  the  listener 
cried; 
"The  best  is  none  too  good  for  you;    come  on,  just 

step  inside; 
Now  eat  your  fill  at  my  expense  and  name  your  brand 

of  wine; 

For  heroes  such  as  you,  my  boy,  the  best  is  none  too 
fine!" 

"I  was  on  the   Merrimac" —    "I   know,"   the  listener 

t     cried; 
>u  rushed  into  that  seething  hell,  and  death  itself 

defied; 
And  now  from  Spanish  dungeons  you  in  some  heroic 

style 

ive  slipped  away  and  fooled  them,  I  can  see  it  in  your 
smile!" 


12  "l   WAS   ON   THE    MERRIMAC.' 


"I  was  on  the  Merrimac" —    "Yes,  yes,"  the  listener 

said; 
"The  laurel  wreath  is  waiting  to  adorn  your  gallant 

head; 

And  Fame  is  sitting  smiling  just  as  happy  as  can  be, 
All  ready  now  to  hand  your  name  to  Immortality!'1 

"I  was  on  the  Merrimac" —  "Aha!"  the  listener  sighed; 

"To  think  that  you  should  get  away  and  stem  the  roar- 
ing tide! 

To  think  that  I  should  see  the  day  I'd  grasp  a  hero's 
hand, 

Especially  a  hero  such  as  formed  young  Hobson's 
band!" 

"I  was  on  the  Merrimac — no  interruptions,  please; 
Because  some  explanation  now  will  set  us  at  our  ease; 
I  was  on  the  Merrimac  a  day  or  two  before 
The  Government  took  charge  of  her,  down  there  in 
Baltimore!" 


LINES  TO  ADMIRAL  CERVERA. 

("The  correct  pronunciation  of  Cervera  is  '  Thairvera.'  ") 

— DAILY  PAPER. 

npHAiRVERA,  oh  !  Thairvera  ! 

You  have  got  uth  in  a  muth; 
And  the  papers,  oh,  Thairvera, 

They  are  raithing  thuch  a  futh! 
All  the  Union  is  exthited, 

Public  thentiment  runth  high — 
But,  Thairvera,  you  can  calm  uth, 
Wath  it  Thampthon,  thir,  or  Thley? 


Thairvera,  oh!   Thairvera! 

Won't  you  thet  uth  at  our  eath? 
Tell  uth  who,  thir,  thent  you  thcooting 

From  the  Caribbean  theath? 
We  are  waiting,  thir,  we're  waiting, 

While  you  fix  up  your  reply — 
Pleath,  Thairvera,  won't  you  tell  uth, 

Wath  it  Thampthon,  thir,  or  Thley? 

13 


14  LINES    TO    ADMIRAL    CERVERA. 


Thairvera,  oh!   Thairvera! 

We  have  been  so  thad  and  thore 
Ever  thince  our  warthipth  thent  you 

Hard  upon  the  Cuban  shore. 
Rumor  hath  been  hard  at  work,  thir, 

Mixing  thingth,  and  that  ith  why 
We  are  anxiouth  that  you  tell  uth, 

Wath  it  Thampthon,  thir,  or  Thley? 

Thairvera,  oh!   Thairvera! 

You  were  prethent  at  the  time; 
You  were  there  from  thtart  to  finish, 

All  throughout  that  day  thublime. 
Tho  to  thettle  all  dithcuthion, 

Thir,  who  wath  it  caught  your  eye 
On  that  well-remembered  morning? 

Wath  it  Thampthon,  thir,  or  Thley? 


PAST  AND  PRESENT. 

1861. 

ID  vas  Springdime,  und  der  flowers 
Dey  vare  vinking  ad  der  sun; 
Yust  like  vot  day  dit  in  Eden 

Ven  der  vorld  vas  yust  begun. 
Und  my  leedle  Fritz  vas  laughing 

In  der  cradle  vare  he  lay — 
He  vas  yust  a  leedle  baby 
Ven  I  vent  to  var  avay. 

Dark  und  gloomy  vas  der  morning, 

Though  der  sun  vas  shining  bright, 
Ven  I  kissed  my  Katarina, 

Und  I  held  her  to  me  tight. 
Leedle  Fritz  vas  calling:    "Datty! 

Von't  you  come  mit  me  und  play?" 
Und  my  heart  like  lead  was  hefy 

Ven  I  vent  to  var  avay. 


l6  PAST    AND    PRESENT. 


1898. 

Id  vas  Springdime,  und  der  flowers 

Vink  like  in  der  long  ago; 
Bud  der  air  is  full  mit  drouble, 

Und  ve  bow  beneath  der  blow. 
Leedle  Fritz— he  yust  sait:    "Datty! 

I'll  come  back  annuder  day;" 
Den  he  kissed  us  both,  und  left  us — 

Fritz  to  var  has  vent  avay. 

Id  vas  Springdime,  und  der  flowers 

Dey  are  vinking  yust  der  same, 
Vile  I  sid  here,  veakund   feeple, 

Bruised  und  pattle-scarred  und  lame; 
Und  my  poor  old  Katarina 

Vipes  der  teardrops  vile  she  say: 
"Twice  to  suffer,  twice  to  sorrow — 

Fritz  to  var  has  vent  avay." 


KATARINA  KNITS. 

YEN  efening  comes  I  sid  me  vare 
I  finds  der  sofdest  easy  chair; 
Und  ven  I  geds  mineself  down  sat 
I  reads  vots  in  der  babers  at — 
Und  Katarina  knits. 

I  reads  abouid  der  sinked  shib  Maine, 
Und  all  abouid  dot  vicket  Sbain; 
Und  vare  der  fighding  vill  took  blace 
Uf  any  Spinyard  shows  his  face — 
Und  Katarina  knits. 

I  fix  mine  glasses  und  I  reads 
Abouid  dot  Vyler  und  his  deeds; 
Und  how  der  Coobans  for  a  year 
Vos  lifing  yust  on  admosphere — 
Und  Katarina  knits. 


l8  KATARINA   KNITS. 


I  reads  abouid  dot  brafe  Fidz  Lee; 
Und  all  abouid  der  shibs  at  sea; 
Und  vile  I  reads  a  thrill  yust  fine 
Id  chases  ub  und  down  my  sbine — 
Und  Katarina  knits. 

Und  den  my  vandering  thoughts  dey  run 
Back  through  der  years  to  Sixty- Vun, 
Ven  I  vos  young  und  dall  und  slim — 
Und  den  some  vay  my  eyes  geds  dim — 
Und  Katarina  knits. 

Again  I'm  down  dare  mit  der  South, 
Abouid  vare  is  der  cannon's  mouth; 
Und  all  der  vorld  is  full  uf  tears, 
Und  shrieks,  und  yells,  und  baddle  cheers — 
Und  Katarina  knits. 

Der  baber  drops  ouid  uf  my  hand — 
I  hear  der  moosic  uf  der  band; 
I  feel  der  young  blood  flow  some  more 
Yust  like  ven  I  vos  twendy-four — 
Und  Katarina  knits. 


KATARINA   KNITS.  19 


Den  to  my  vife  I  say,  "My  dear, 
I  dink  vot  I  vill  volunteer!" 
She  smiles  ad  me  und  shakes  her  head- 
Dere's  nudding  furder  to  be  said 
Ven  Katarina  nits. 


LINES  TO  ADMIRAL  VON  DIEDERICHS 


ACH,  Atmiral  von  Diederichs, 
I  vant  to  sbeak  mit  you; 
Yust  lisden  fer  a  leedle  und 

I'll  tolt  you  vot  to  do: 
Sail  from  dem  Phillypeanuts  isles 

A  tousand  miles  abouid — 
Fer  dot  Dewey  man  vill  got  you 

Uf 

you 

doan'd 

vatch 

ouid! 


Ach,  Atmiral  von  Diederichs, 
Der  Kaiser  vas  a  peach, 

I'm  villing  to  atmit  id,  but 
Dere's  udders  on  der  beach. 


LINES  TO  ADMIRAL  VON  DIEDERICHS.  21 


So,  darefore,  dot's  der  reason  vy, 

Doan'd  led  your  head  get  stouid, 
Fer  dot  Dewey  man  vill  got  you 

Uf 

you 

doan'd 

vatch 

ouid! 


Ach,  Atmiral  von  Diederichs, 

Vot  pitzness  haf  you  got 
In  loafing  py  Manila  ven 

Der  heat-vaves  are  so  hot? 
Vy  doan'd  you  yust  oxcoos  yourself 

Und  durn  your  shibs  abouid — 
Fer  dot  Dewey  man  vill  got  you 


Uf 

you 


doan'd 

vatch 

ouid! 


22  LINES  TO  ADMIRAL  VON  DIEDERICHS. 


Ach,  Atmiral  von  Diederichs, 

Vy  vill  you  be  a  clams? 
Go  ged  some  udder  islands  vich 

Are  not  olt  Uncle  Sam's. 
Yust  wrote  to  Kaiser  Wilhelm,  yet, 

Und  dell  him  dares  no  douid 
Dot  der  Dewey  man  vill  got  you 

Uf 

you 

doan'd 

vatch 

ouid! 


THE  PHANTOMS. 

THE  phantom  sea  serenely  blue 
Beneath  the  sunshine  lay, 
And  bold  Camara  sailed  his  ships 

Through  clouds  of  phantom  spray; 
With  phantom  skill  he  steered  his  fleet 
For  many  a  phantom  day. 

One  phantom  morn  the  lookout  cried, 

"A  sail!     I  see  a  sail!" 
The  bold  Camara,  undismayed, 

Turned  round,  and  then  turned  pale; 
Then  tried  to  turn  the  subject,  and 

Concluded  to  turn  tail. 

But  closer  to  Camara  drew 

That  strangely  foreign  craft; 
"Is  she  a  Yank?"  Camara  cried; 
For  answer  phantom  laught- 
Er  rolled  across  the  phantom  foam, 
Like  merriment  gone  daft. 

23 


24  THE    PHANTOMS. 


"Wie  gehts,  alretty,  vonce  again!" 

Came  to  Camara's  ear; 
"Ve  haf  peen  looging  ouid  py  you 

Dis  many  und  many  a  year; 
Und  now,  py  Chimineddy,  ve 

Are  glat  to  see  you  here!" 

"Oh,  who  are  you?"  Camara  cried, 

With  terror  in  each  tone. 
"I  vos  der  Flying  Dutchman,  yet!" 

Came  through  the  megaphone; 
"Und  I  am  glat  dot  nefermore 

I'll  sail  der  sea  alone." 

And  so,  across  the  phantom  deep 
And  through  the  phantom  spray, 

Through  phantom  storms  and  phantom  calms 
Through  phantom  night  and  day, 

The  Flying  Dutchman  and  the  Fly- 
Ing  Spaniard  sail  for  aye. 


NRT. 

ONCE  I  knowed  a  leedle  fellow 
Vot  his  name  vas  Net. 
Freddy  chap,  mit  curls  uf  yellow 

All  arount  his  het. 
Yust  a  hantsome  leedle  fellow, 
Mit  dem  preddy  curls  uf  yellow 
All  arount  his  het. 

All  der  beobles  used  to  luff  him, 
He  vas  smard  und  bright. 

Und  der  bat  boys  used  to  shuff  him 
Dry  to  make  him  fight. 

But  no  madder  how  dey  teased  him, 

Or  in  vot  vay  dey  disbleased  him, 
Yust  he  vould  nod  fight. 

Yust  a  chentle,  quiet  fellow 

Vas  dot  leedle  Net; 
Mit  dem  preddy  curls  uf  yellow 

Growing  py  his  het. 


26 


Some  folks  set  he'd  be  a  teacher, 
Udders  set  he'd  be  a  preacher — 
Dot's  vot  beobles  set. 

Vatched  dot  leedle  fellow  growing — 

Net,  dot  vas  his  name! 
Quiet,  chentle,  easy-going, 

Alvays  yust  der  same. 
Nefer  heard  dot  lad  comblaining 
Veder  id  vas  fine  or  raining, 

Alvays  yust  der  same. 

Ub  he  grew,  dot  leedle  fellow — 

How  der  years  haf  ran! 
Put  avay  dem  curls  uf    yellow 

Ven  he  vas  a  man. 
Yust  der  same  nice,  quiet  fellow, 
Bud  midoud  dem  curls  uf  yellow 

Since  he  vas  a  man. 

Ven  der  boogies  sounded,  Net  he 

Knew  vot  id  vas  for; 
"Freedom  calls,"  he  set;    "I'm  retty; 

I  vill  go  to  var!" 


NET.  27 


Some  folks  set  he'd  be  a  teacher, 
Udders  set  he'd  be  a  preacher, 
Bud  he  vent  to  var. 


Now  der  var-clouds  dey  are  scaddered, 

Peace  sids  in  der  door; 
Und  der  solchers,  bruised  and  baddered, 

Dey  are  home  vonce  more. 
Bud  dot  chentle  leedle  fellow 
Vot  he  hat  dem  curls  uf  yellow, 

Doan'd  come  home  no  more. 

Vare  der  Southern  sun  is  gleaming 

Ofer  lant  und  vave, 
Dare  dot  chentle  lad  is  dreaming, 

Dreaming  in  his  grave. 
Vare  dem  preddy  vines  are  creebing 
On  dot  Kooban  hill  he's  sleebing 

In  a  solcher's  grave. 


TOM  BUSHBY—  CORP'RAL. 


sorrer  an*  gloom  on  the  farm  tonight, 
An'  wild  the  wind  is  wailin'; 
Our  tears  an'  sighs  ain't  set  things  right, 

Our  prayers  was  unavailin'. 
I  see  him  now  with  his  bonny  head 

Bent  down,  his  mother  kissin'  — 
But  we've  heard  no  word  since  the  paper  said: 
"Tom  Bushby  —  corp'ral  —  missin'." 


He  left  us  here  with  his  spirits  high, 

An'  a  cheery  cry,  "God  keep  you!" 
An*  now  in  vain  we  search  an'  sigh — 

Our  fearless  boy,  where  sleep  you  ! 
If  we  only  knew  that  he  smiled  an*  fell 

With  the  bullets  round  him  hissin' — 
But  this  is  the  story  the  papers  tell: 

"Tom  Bushby-— corp'ral— missinY' 

28 


TOM  BUSHBY — CORP  RAL.  29 


We're  old  an'  poor,  but  we'd  give  up  all 

That  helps  to  make  earth's  glory 
If  a  comrade  dear  of  Tom's  would  call 

An'  tell  our  brave  boy's  story. 
Did  he  die  with  a  cheer  for  the  flag  that  day, 

The  flag  the  sun  was  kissin* — 
God  knows!   for  the  papers  only  say: 

"Tom  Bushby — corp'ral — missin'." 


Ah!   rest  your  heart  whose  brave  son  died 
With  a  comrade  there  to  carry 

A  message  home  from  the  green  hillside, 
Where  the  dead  in  peace  shall  tarry. 

You  know  he  fought,  you  know  he  fell 
Where  the  sun  his  grave  is  kissin' — 

With  us  forever  this  thought  must  dwell; 
Bushby — corp'ral — missin'." 


There's  sorrer  an'  gloom  on  the  farm  tonight, 

An'  black  the  sky  is  bendin', 
We've  prayed  in  grief  to  see  the  light, 

But  the  darkness  is  unendin'. 


30  TOM    BUSHBY,    CORP  RAL. 


In  my  dreams  I  see  that  bonny  head 
Bent  down,  his  mother  kissin' — 

But,  alas!   no  word  since  the  paper  said: 
'Tom  Bushby — corp'ral— missin'." 


IN  NINETEEN  HUNDRED  AND  EIGHT. 

MY  name  is  Georgia  Dewey  Jones, 
I'm  10  years  old  today, 
For  I  was  born  in  '98, 

All  on  the  first  of  May. 
Oh,  I  was  christened  Dewey  just 

In  honor  of  an  Ad- 
Miral  who  made  an  awful  hit 
That  season  with  my  dad. 

Among  the  boys  I  play  with  there 

Are  Deweys  by  the  score. 
Residing  in  the  block  with  me 

There's  over  twenty-four. 
There's  little  Dewey  Snooks  and  James 

Orlando  Dewey  Bibbs; 
There's  Dewey  Pilkins,  Dewey  Jinks, 

And  Samuel  Dewey  Tibbs. 

31 


32  IN  NINETEEN  HUNDRED  AND  EIGHT. 


And  then  there's  little  Dewey  Brown 

And  Dewey  Pelsenheim, 
And  Charles  Augustus  Dewey  Smith 

And  Dewey  Getzenheim. 
There's  Deweyeski  Sneezeovitch 

And  Dewey  Pat  O'Lynn; 
There's  Dewey  Garibaldi  and 

There's  Dewey  Lee  Ah  Sin. 

There's  more  of  us,  but  I  forget 

Just  what's  their  other  names; 
And  when  we  get  together — gee! 

It's  hard  to  play  our  games! 
If  some  one  calls  for  "Dewey,"  why 

Up  start  the  twenty-four; 
And  then  to  straighten  matters  out 

It  takes  an  hour  or  more. 

It  seems  'fore  we  were  christened  that 
A  man  named  Dewey  fought 

The  late  lamented  Spaniards,  and— 
Well,  say,  tabasco's  hot, 


IN   NINETEEN   HUNDRED    AND   EIGHT.  33 


But  he  was  much  more  torrid  than 
The  first  warm  day  in  spring, 

And  to  those  Spaniards,  hist'ry  says, 
He  didn't  do  a  thing. 

Then,  after  he  had  fought  his  fight, 

All  on  the  first  of  May, 
'Twas  Dewey  this,  and  Dewey  that, 

For  months,  the  old  folks  say. 
The  Dewey  epidemic  raged 

With  fury  when  we  came 
On  earth — our  parents  took  it,  and 

We  got  it  in  the  name. 


w 


NATURE'S  DECORATION  DAY. 

HERE  brooding  Silence  reings  as  Queen 

A  sleeping  soldier  lies; 
His  bed  the  heart  of  Mother  Earth, 
His  monument  the  skies. 


Through  drifting  years  the  sentry  trees 

Their  loving  branches  bend 
To  guard  him  with  their  shadows  till 

All  time  shall  be  at  end. 

What  though  the  winds  of  winter  wail 

In  sorrow's  sobbing  tones, 
And  dreary  nights  voice  all  their  woes 

In  melancholy  moans; 

What  though  the  golden  summer's  sun 

Shines  brightly  overhead? 
He  sleeps  the  peaceful  sleep  vouchsafed 

The  long-forgotten  dead. 


NATURE'S  DECORATION  DAY.  35 


No  tender  hands  have  ever  placed 
Sweet  roses  on  his  breast; 

No  woman's  sighs  have  ever  helped 
To  soothe  his  soul  to  rest. 

No  gentle  voices  whisper  low 
Above  his  bit  of  ground; 

No  tears,  save  Heaven's,  ever  fall 
To  consecrate  his  mound. 

But  Nature  loves  her  heroes  well, 
And  'round  that  grave  today 

The  children  of  her  fancy  in 
A  wild  profusion  play. 

The  ox-eyed  daisy  shyly  greets 
The  closely-clinging  vine; 

The  buttercup  is  happy  with 
The  yellow  dandelion. 

The  violet  with  purple  clothes 
That  long-untrodden  spot; 

And  whispering  grasses  linger  near 
The  wild  forget-me-not. 


36  NATURE'S  DECORATION  DAY. 


Yes,  Nature  loves  her  heroes  well, 
And  in  her  own  kind  way 

She  gives  our  long-forgotten  dead 
A  Decoration  Day. 


EFENING  FANCIES. 

VEN  der  day  is  yust  confessing 
Dot  id  dearly  luffs  der  night, 
Und  I  sid  mit  Katarina  all  alone; 
Ven  der  chentle  preezes  hurry 
To  der  West,  vare  is  der  light, 
Und  der  efening  bells  dey  sing  mit  sweetest  tone, 
Dot  is  ven  my  thoughts  dey  trafel 
Pack  across  der  road  uf  years, 
Und  der  strangest  leedle  fancies  round  me  blay. 
Den  id  seems  der  vorld  is  habby 
Und  id  nefer  knows  no  tears — 
Ven  der  shadows  tell  der  dwilight,  run  avay! 

Ven  der  leedle  stars  are  vinking 
At  der  moon  vot  hides  ids  face, 
Und  der  clouds  are  floading  home  to  go  to  bed; 
Den  id  seems  I  ged  a  message 
From  some  far-off,  beaceful  blace, 


37 


38  EFENING   FANCIES. 


Und  id  puts  dem  habby  notions  in  my  head. 

Den  I  hear  der  sveetest  moosic 

Vot  is  qviet-like  und  low, 
Like  vot  fairies  on  a  moonbeam  ought  to  blay; 

Den  id  seems  der  vorld  is  choyful, 

Und  id  nefer  knows  no  voe — 
Ven  der  shadows  tell  der  dwilight,  run  avay! 

Ven  der  pirds  ub  in  der  pranches 

Fold  dare  vings  und  say  good-night, 
Und  der  flowers  dey  are  nodding,  nodding  low; 

Den  I  luff  to  sid  in  silence, 

Und  to  vatch  der  fading  light, 
Vile  I  drafel  to  der  scenes  uf  long  ago, 

Mit  mine  Katarina's  leedle 

Hand  in  mine  yed  vunce  again, 
Yust  like  vot  id  vos  pefore  our  vedding  tay, 

Den  der  tired  vorld  is  sleebing, 

Und  forgetting  all  ids  pain — 
Ven  der  shadows  tell  der  dwilight,  run  avay! 


DO  YOU  KNOW  BLINKINS? 

Do  YOU  know  Blinkins  ?    Dingdest  galk 
'At  ever  started  in  to  talk! 
No  matter  what  the  question  be 
He  never  gits  it  right — not  he. 
He's  dumber  en  my  garden  hoe; 
But  when  the  facts  is  settled,  though, 
He's  first  to  say,  "I  tolt  you  so!" 
Do  you  know  Blinkins? 

He  sez,  sez  he,  "No  war  you'll  see; 
'Tain't  never  comin',  sir!"  sez  he. 
But  when  them  guns  begun  to  boom 
En  Spanish  tyrunts  met  thar  doom, 
He  ups  en  starts  right  in  to  blow; 
You'd  think  he  wuz  the  hull  dern  show 
The  way  he  sez  "I  tolt  you  so!" 
Do  you  know  Blinkins? 


39 


40  DO  YOU  KNOW  BLINKINS 


When  them  thar  Spanish  came  acrost 
He  give  his  kentry  up  fer  lost; 
Jus*  loafed  aroun'  behind  the  shed 
A  'countin'  on  hisself  fer  dead; 
But  when  our  navy  laid  'em  low, 
He  limbered  up  enough  to  go 
En  screech  right  out,  "I  tolt  you  so! 
Do  you  know  Blinkins? 


En,  furthermore,  he  don't  know  beans; 
Fer  'ninstance,  take  them  Phillerpeens! 
He  sez,  sez  he,  "They's  situate 
Near  Zanzybar,  I  calculate!" 
We  got  the  jograffy  to  show 
They's  out  near  Archypellygo, 
En  then  sez  he,  "I  tolt  you  so!" 
Do  you  know  Blinkins? 


I  reckon  when  he's  done  down  here. 
En  trots  off  to  another  sphere, 
He'll  start  right  fer  the  golden  gate 
Whar  only  good  folks  set  en  wait; 


DO  YOU  KNOW  BLINKINS  ?  41 


En  when  Saint  Peter  sez,  "  You  go 
To  that  thar  place  'at's  down  below  !  " 
He'll  wink  en  say,  "I  tolt  you  so!" 
Do  you  know  Blinkins? 


M 


NESCA. 

Y  Nesca  is  a  poet's  dream, 
A  lyric  sweet  and  true; 
Her  heart  of  gold's  a  ballad  old, 
Whose  music  thrills  me  thro'. 


My  Nesca's  eyes  like  twin  stars  shine 

Beneath  a  brow  of  snow; 
Her  dimpled  hand's  a  sonnet  grand, 

Her  hair  a  silk  rondeau. 


Her  rose-lit  cheeks  two  love  songs  are, 

Faultless  her  tiny  feet; 
In  burning  rhyme  I  say  that  time 

Ne'er  saw  maid  half  so  sweet. 

And  yet  despite  the  fact  that  she 

Is  naught  save  poetry — 
Despite  her  rhymes,  I  find  at  times 

She's  not  averse  to  me. 


T 


MY  LADY  AT  THE  PLAY. 

HE  play  was  some  old  fable 

Wrought  into  quaint  romance — 
(Ah,  would  the  gods  had  blessed  me  with 
Sweet  words  to  paint  her  glance!) 


The  heroine  was  tearful, 

The  villain  full  of  guile— 

(The  heroine  that  pleased  me  best 

Sat  just  across  the  aisle!) 

The  scenes  were  laid  in  ages 

When  knights  were  bad  and  bold — 

(A  comb  of  tortoise  nestled  in 
Her  hair  of  silken  gold!) 


43 


44  MY  LADY  AT  THE   PLAY. 


I  know  not  how  it  ended, 
Or  when  the  curtain  fell— 

(Content  was  I  to  sit  and  dream 
Beneath  that  maiden's  spell!) 

The  play  was  some  quaint  fable, 

A  story  old  and  rare— 
(But  the  only  fable  there  for  me 

Was  the  tortoise  and  the  hair!) 


I 


THE  FICKLE  FROG. 

N  a  noon-day  dream  on  the  banks  of  a  stream, 

A  bull-frog  sat  one  day; 

While  his  new-made  bride  swam  around  in  the  tide 
In  the  usual  froggish  way. 


Croak ! 

Croak!     Croak! 

Oh!    sorry  the  day  for  the  frog  asleep, 
For  he  may  awake  perchance  to  weep, 

Oh,  Croak! 

Croak!     Croak! 

Croak!     Croak!     Croak!     Croak! 

While  the  husband  slept  a  strange  frog  crept 

From  the  rushes  growing  green, 
And  he  swam  to  the  side  of  the  blushing  bride 

With  a  captivating  mien. 


45 


46  THE   FICKLE   FROG. 


Croak! 

Croak!     Croak! 

Alas!   for  the  husband  sleeping  there — 
Dark  trouble  hovers  in  the  air. 
Oh,  Croak! 
Croak!     Croak! 
Croak!     Croak!     Croak!     Croak! 


The  strange  frog's  smile  seemed  to  quite  beguile 

The  little  blushing  bride; 
In  a  tender  tone  he  said  "My  own/' 

And  he  drew  her  to  his  side! 

Croak! 

Croak!     Croak! 

For  husband  frogs  must  sigh  and  weep, 
And  deplore  the  habit  of  going  to  sleep. 

Oh,  Croak! 

Croak!     Croak! 

Croak!     Croak!     Croak!     Croak! 


THE    FICKLE    FROG.  47 


When  the  frog  woke  up  he  found  his  cup 

Of  misery  running  o'er; 
For  the  wife  of  his  log  with  the  masher  frog 

Had  eloped  to  some  other  shore. 

Croak! 

Croak!     Croak! 

Did  he  grieve  himself  to  death?     Oh,  Nay! 
He  married  another  wife  next  day. 

Oh,  Croak! 

Croak!     Croak! 

Croak!     Croak!     Croak!     Croak! 


HOT    WEATHER    WISHES. 

OH  !   I'd  like  to  go  with  Nansen 
To  the  Pole, 
Where  the  grizzly  bears  are  dancin' 

And  they  roll 
In  a  chilly,  Trapped  ocean 
With  a  rhythmic  sort  of  motion 

That  is  droll! 
Where  Mrs.  Seal  cavorting 

Wears  her  furs, 
And  Mr.  Seal,  though  sporting, 

Ne'er  demurs; 

Where  the  wind  is  wild,  and  freely 
O'er  the  country  found  by  Greely 

Ever  stirs — 

O'er  the  country  found  by  Greely 
Ever  stirs! 


Oh!    I'd  like  to  go  with  Nansen 

On  the  Fram, 
Where  the  pelicans  are  prancin', 

And  the  clam 


HOT  WEATHER   WISHES.  49 


Is  a  frozen  inspiration 
Filled  with  icicled  elation, 

Cool  an  ca'm! 
Where  the  Ice-King  reigns,  and  reigning 

Does  it  well; 
Where  there  never  is  complaining 

Of  a  spell 

When  the  mercury  is  soaring, 
And  the  populace  is  roaring: 

"Hot  as  can  be!" 
And  the  populace  is  roaring: 

"Hot  as  can  be!" 

Oh!   I'd  like  to  go  with  Nansen — 

Who  would  not? 
Where  the  hot  wave  stops  advancin' 

And  gets  caught 
In  the  centre  of  a  blizzard 
That  exterminates  the  sizzard 

On  the  spot! 
Where  the  mercury's  retiring 

Coy  and  shy; 
Where  Old  Sol  is  never  firing 

Up  the  sky; 


50  HOT  WEATHER  WISHES. 


Where  the  ice-man  and  the  plumber 
Aren't  Moguls  of  the  summer 

Days  that  fry — 
Aren't  Moguls  of  the  summer 

Days  that  fry! 

Oh!    I'd  like  to  be  a  blooming 

Esquimault, 
All  his  frozen  airs  assuming, 

Don't  you  knault! 
Then  farewell  to  moods  so  melting, 
With  a  snowball  I'd  be  pelting 

Every  wault! 
All  of  Greenland's  icy  mountains 

I  would  do; 
Drinking  drinks  that  frozen  fountains 

Only  brew. 

There  I  know  they'd  ne'er  be  trottin' 
Out  that  query,  "Is  it  hot  en- 

Ough  for  you?" 
Out  that  query,  "Is  it  hot  en- 

Ough  for  you?" 


THE  NEWSBOY'S  STORY. 

SAY,  Mister,  buy  de  ev'nin'  paper,  wil'e  ? 
Me  mudder's  sick,  an'  fodder's 
Got  a  t'irst. 

If  I  don't  stake  him,  say!   he'll  knock  me  silly, 
Dat's  w'at  he  does — if  I  don't 
See  him  first. 

Dat's  right!    me  mudder's  sick,  an'  little  sister 
Has  got  de  worstest  pains 
You  ever  see, 

'Cause  she  fell  on  de  stove  an'  raised  a  blister — 
T'anks,  Mister!     W'at!     A  dime! 
Well,  hully  gee!" 

A  little  face,  so  woe-begone  and  tearful; 

A  head  of  curly  locks 

In  wild  dismay; 
A  little  voice,  so  frightened  and  so  fearful; 

And  eyes  that  seemed  to  mourn 

A  happy  day. 


52  THE  NEWSBOY'S  STORY. 


A  little  coat,  so  patched  up  and  so  tattered; 

A  hat  whose  brim  the  night  winds 

Seemed  to  sway; 
A  little  hand,  with  mud  and  grime  bespattered- 

Ah!   churlish  were  my  soul 

To  say  him  nay! 


Anon,  when  night  had  grown  more  melancholy, 

With  thoughtful  mien   I  homeward 

Slowly  trudged; 
The  earth  seemed  full  of  vanity  and  folly 

By  that  poor  little  outcast's 

Story  judged. 
"Poor  heart!"  I  said,  "his  life  in  woe  is  dawning; 

Within  his  dreary  future 

Lies,  perhaps" — 
I  paused,  for  surely,  there  beneath  an  awning, 

I  saw  the  little  rascal 

Shooting  craps! 


THE  MYTHICAL  SANTA  CLAUS 

I     AIN'T  much  more'n  seven,  an'  still  I  knows  a  lot  ; 
But  dis  here  game  of  Chris'mas,  be-jee!    it's  got 

me  caught! 

I  heard  de  kids  a'chewin'  de  rag  about  a  guy 
Wat  tum'les  down  de  chimbley  w'en  no  one  else  ain't 

nigh, 

Wit'  baskets  full  of  candy,  an'  udder  t'ings  like  dat — 
I  t'ink  dem  kids  was  on'y  conwersin'  trew  dare  hat! 
'Cause  we  has  got  a  chimbley,  an'  a  roof  dat's  open, 

too; 
But  no  old  guy  wit'  candy  ain't  never  yet  come  trew! 

Me  frien',  dat's  Swipes  McGoogin,  he  tolt  me  to  me 

teet' 
Dat   dem   w'at   hangs    up    stockin's  is  Sandy  Clawses 

meat. 

So  I  believes  McGoogin,  an'  chases  home  to  Mame — 
Mame  is  me  little  sister,  wat's  awful  weak  an'  lame — 

53 


54  THE    MYTHICAL    SANTA    CLAUS. 


An*  den  I  says  to  Mamie,  "Say,  Sis,  we's,got  a  cinch! 
We   jist   hangs   up   our   stockin's,    an'   Santa   Claus'll 

pinch 

A  lot  of  presents  fer  us — de  fines'  in  de  land! 
An*  w'en  we  wakes  tumorrer  we  eats  to  beat  de  band!" 

Jee!    Mame  was  tickelt  crazy — but  Mudder  on'y  cried; 
Poor  Mudder  can't  help  t'inkin'  of  de  time  w'en  Fad- 

der  died. 

So  Mame  she  ups  an'  patches  her  stockin's  wit'  a  rag; 
An'  me,  not  havin'  any,  gets  Pop's  old  carpet-bag. 
An'  dare,  'long  side  de  chimbley,  wit'  de  stars  a'shinin' 

down, 
We   hangs  dem  up  an'  waits   fer   His  Nibs  to   come 

aroun'; 

But  bimeby  I  gets  sleepy,  an'  de  last  t'ing  dat  I  sees 
Is  Mudder  be  de  chimbley,  a'prayin'  on  her  knees. 

Me  Mudder  was  a'sobbin'  an'  moanin'  in  her  sleep, 
W'en  I  gets  up  an'  chases  fer  de  gif's  to  take  a  peep; 
It  was  early  in  de  mornin',  an'  Mamie's  sleepin'  yet, 
W'en  I  looks  into  her  stockin's  to  see  w'at  did  she  get. 
Jee!  but  dat  guy  was  frosty!    Ain't  nuttin'  dare  escept 
One  little  wormy  apple  w'at  no  one  else'd  kept. 


THE    MYTHICAL    SANTA    CLAUS.  55 


An*  in   Pop's  carpet-bag  dare's  not  a  single  t'ing  in 

sight — 
Say!   I  was  up  ag'inst  it  fer  certain  now,  dat's  right! 


Wen  I  ups  an'  tells  McGoogin  dat  he  gets  me  in  a  hole 
Be  tellin'  me  dat  Sandy  Claws  is  such  a  good  old  soul, 
McGoogin  says,  says  he,  "I  tried  to  work  de  racket, 

too; 
But  I  got  de  half  of  nuttin',  jist  de  same,  be  jee,  as 

you!" 

So  I  t'ink  dat  folks  is  on'y  conwersin'  trew  dare  hat 
Wen  dey  says  a  guy  goes  roun'  wit'  gif's  an'  udder 

t'ings  like  dat, 

'Cause  me  an'  Mamie  tried  it,  an'  all  we  got  to  show 
Is  a  wormy  little  apple  w'at  hadn't  time  to  grow! 


A  DARKTOW'N  LULLABY. 

SLEEP  time,  mah  honey  !  evenin'  shadows  fallin', 
Sun  sinkin'  down  in'a  skies; 
Sand  Man  done  reckons  time  now  fo'  callin' — 

Close  yo'  li'l  coal  black  eyes! 

Close  dem,  mah  honey!     Sand  Man  won't  lub  yo' 
Ef  yo'  'sists  to  chattah  dataway; 

Yander  he's  callin'! 

"Derry  dum!   derry  dum!    derry  ditty  ditty  dum!" 
Dat's  what'a  Sand  Man  say! 

Sleep  time,  mah  honey!   shadows  am  creepin', 

Creepin'  up  aroun'a  cabin  do'; 
Down  in'a  meadow  dem  bullfrogs  am  weepin', 

Weepin'  kase  de  sunlight  had  to  go. 
Sand  Man  am  walkin',  sweet  dreams  he's  bringin'- 

Doan'  yo'  blink  dem  li'l  eyes  dat  way! 

Yander  he's  singin'! 
"Derry  dum!   derry  dum!    derry  ditty  ditty  dum!" 

Dat's  what'a  Sand  Man  say! 


A  DARKTOWN  LULLABY.  57 


Sleep  time,  mah  honey!    shadows  done  foun'  yo', 

Foun'  yo'  an'  yo'  ol'  Mammy,  too! 
Whippo'will  am  singin',  singin'  all  aroun'  yo', 

Dess  a  sweet  good  night  he  means  fo'  yo'! 
Sand  Man!     How  do,  suh!   li'l  one  am  ready, 

Ready  fo'  to  dream'a  night  erway; 

Chune  up  yo'  singin'! 
"Derry  dum!   derry  dum!    deny  ditty  ditty  dum!" 

Dat's  what' a  Sand  Man  say! 


SOME  FOLKS. 

SOME  folks  is  always  moanin' 
'Cause  somefin'  done  gone  wrong; 
En  er  dismal  so't  of  groanin' 

Makes  up  dah  life-long  song. 
Doan'  nevah  see  no  beauty 
Reflected  from  on  high; 
Jus'  reckons  it  dah  duty 
To  sigh,  sigh,  sigh! 

Den,  it's  grum'le,  grum'le,  grum'le! 

Grum'le  all  de  day. 
Doan'  nevah  try 
Fo'  to  look  at  de  sky, 

Dess  grum'le  dah  life  erway. 

Some  folks  is  always  frettin' 

'Cause  dey  has  so  much  woe, 
En  all  de  time  fo'gettin' 

Dey  mos'ly  makes  it  so. 


SOME    FOLKS.  59 


Ef  dey  ain't  got  no  worries 

Which  dey  kin  call  dah  own, 

Dey  catches  someone  elses, 
En  moan,  moan,  moan. 

Den,  it's  grum'le,  grum'le,  grum'le! 

Grum'le  all  de  day. 
Doan'  nevah  try 
Fo'  to  look  at  de  sky, 

Dess  grum'le  dah  life  erway. 


Some  folks  dey  always  grum'les 

About  dishyer  en  dat; 
Dey  dess  sits  roun'  en  mum'les, 

En  wonders  where  dey's  at. 
Wakes  airly  in  de  mawnin', 

En  feels  jus'  laik  dey  mus' 
Begin  right  wif  de  dawnin' 

To  fuss,  fuss,  fuss. 

Den,  it's  grum'le,  grum'le,  grum'le! 

Grum'le  all  de  day. 
Doan'  nevah  try 
Fo'  to  look  at  de  sky, 

Dess  grum'le  dah  life  erway. 


DE  GROUN'HOG. 

DE  Groun'hog  rub  his  eyes  an*  woke — 
Good  mawnin'!     How  d'  do! 
He  grab  his  pipe  to  took  a  smoke — 

Good  mawnin'!     How  d'  do! 
He  brush  his  wooly  head  a  pile; 
He  cul'lyvate  a  happy  smile; 
An'  den  he  walk  eroun'  a  while — 

Good  mawnin'!     How  d'  do! 

Mistah  Groun'hog  brush  his  clo'es; 
Mistah  Groun'hog  smile  and  say: 

"I  reckon  I  mus'  go  an' 

Look  at  de  sun 
To  see  do  my  shadder  lay!" 


De  Groun'hog  strollin'  down  de  road — 

Good  mawnin'!     How  d'  do! 

De  spruce  trees  rollin'  wif  dah  load — 

Good  mawnin'!     How  d'  do! 


DE  GROUN'HOG.  61 


De  ribbers  friz  up  in  dah  bed; 
De  snow  bird  perk  his  li'l  head; 
De  rabbits  squeakin'  to  be  fed — 

Good  mawnin'!     How  d'  do! 

Mistah  Groun'hog  look  aroun'; 
Mistah  Groun'hog  smile  and  say: 

"I  reckon  it  am  time  fo' 

To  look  at  de  sky, 
Kase  I  ain't  got  long  to  stay!" 

De  Groun'hog  brush  his  specs  an'  smile — 
Good  mawnin'!     How  d'  do! 
An*  den  he  rub  his  eyes  er  while — 

Good  mawnin'!     How  d'  do! 
Den  he  raise  his  head  up  to  de  sky, 
An'  slowly  wink  his  othah  eye — 
Did  he  see  de  sun! — let  him  reply! 

Good  mawnin'!     How  d'  do! 

Mistah  Groun'hog  blink  an*  wink; 
Mistah  Groun'hog  smile  and  say: 

"Dar'll  be  er  lot  ob  climate 

'Roun'  hyar  putty  soon, 
Ef  dis  weather  doan'  go  erway!" 


THE  SONGS  MAH  MAMMY  SUNG. 

W'EN  cle  worl'  am  full  ob  sadness, 
'N*  de  light  done  gone  erway; 
Wen  all  de  joy  V  gladness 
Hab  lef  me  far  to  stray  ; 
Wen  de  wind  its  sighs  am  tunin', 

'N'  mah  heart  wif  grief  am  wrung, 
Dat's  de  time  I  gits  to  croonin' 
De  songs  mah  Mammy  sung: 

"Rockerby!    rockerby 

On  de  tree  top; 
Wen  de  wind  blows 

De  cradle  will  rock! 
Rockerby!    rockerby! 

Nuffin'  to  fear; 
Hoodoo  kain't  kotch  yo', 

Fo'  Mammy  is  here!" 


THE  SONGS   MAH    MAMMY   SUNG.  63 


Wen  all  mah  frien's  fo'sake  me, 

'N'  dahkness  fills  de  earf; 
Wen  misery  done  make  me 

Close  tight  de  gates  of  mirf ; 
Wen  solyum  bells  am  ringin', 

An'  mah  po'  heart's  unstrung, 
Dat's  w'en  I  gits  to  singin' 

De  songs  mah  Mammy  sung: 

"Go  to  sleep, 

Mah  leetle  pickaninny! 
Close  yo'  coal-black  eyes, 

'N'  de  angels 
Come  to  meet  yo' — 

Yas,  de  angels 
Sho'  to  greet  yo', 

Yander  in  de  skies!" 


Wen  de  sun's  behin'  de  mountain, 
'N'  it's  night-time  in  mah  soul; 

W'en  troubles  beyon'  countin' 
Erbout  me  su'ge  'n'  roll; 


64  THE  SONGS  MAH  MAMMY  SUNG. 


Wen  de  shadows  keep  er  comin' 

Until  de  tears  am  brung, 
Dat's  w'en  I  gits  to  hummin* 

De  songs  mah  Mammy  sung: 

"Doan'  yo'  cry,  mah  babby— 

Doan'  yo'  cry! 
Yo'  be  er  ge'man 

Fo'  yo'  die! 
Close  yo'  eyes,  mah  babby — 

Doan1  yo'  cry! 
Gwin'er  see  de  sunshine 

By  'n'  bye!" 


THE  SHADOWS  AND   THE  SUN. 

WAS  sittin'  in  de  the-ayter,  an*  heard  an  actor  say 
Some  words  that  seemed  to  grab  me  like,  an' 

linger  dat  away. 
It  was  dess  a  small  remahk  he  made  afo'  de  play  was 

done: 

"Remember  dat  de  shadows  prove  de  presence  of  de 
sun!" 

Dess  smile  a  li'l,  airly  in  de  mawnin'l 

De  good  Lawd  made  a  mountains,  and  He  made  a  val- 
leys, too; 

He  made  a  blue  sky  overhead,  He  made  a  light  shine 
frew; 

An'  den  He  dess  set  down  an'  made  a  clouds  'fore  He 
was  done — 

"Remember  dat  de  shadows  prove  de  presence  of  de 
sun!" 

Dess  smile  a  li'l,  airly  in  de  mawnin'I 

65 


66  THE  SHADOWS  AND  THE  SUN. 


De  good  Lawd  made  a  flowers,  an'  He  made  a  bum'le 

bees; 
He  let  the  lovely  light  shine  down  an'  paint  wif  green 

a  trees, 
An'  den  He  sent  de  rain  clouds  so  de  roots  could  have 

some  fun — 
"Remember  dat  de  shadows  prove  de  presence  of  de 

sunl" 
Dess  smile  a  li'l,  airly  in  de  mawnin'! 

It  ain't  no  use  to  worry  when  a  sto'm  clouds  cross  yo' 

skies; 
Ef  all  a  time  was  sunny  bright  mos'  likely  hu't  ouah 

eyes. 
De  good  Lawd  knew  His  business  when  dis  worl'  He 

made  to  run — 
"Remember  dat  de  shadows  prove  de  presence  of  de 

sun!" 
Dess  smile  a  li'l,  airly  in  de  mawnin'! 

Some  folks  dey  gets  to  frettin'  an'  a-sobbin'  right  er- 

way 

When  er  li'l  cloud  it  rises  on  de  brightness  of  dah  day; 
Doan'  nevah  stop  to  figure  dat  de  dahkness  soon  be 

done, 


THE  SHADOWS  AND  THE  SUN.  67 


En  fo'gets  dat  de  shadows  prove  de  presence  of  de  sun, 
Dess  groans  a  li'l,  airly  in  de  mawnin'I 

De  good  Lawd  made  a  sunlight,  an'  He  made  a  shad- 
ows, too; 

He  tied  'em  all  together  in  a  bag  fo'  me  an'  yo'; 

An'  dat  man's  mos'  contented  when  his  time  below  am 
done 

What  has  'membered  dat  de  shadows  prove  de  presence 
of  de  sun — 
An'  smiled  a  li'l,  airly  in  de  mawnin'! 


A  MURMUR  FROM  MUDVILLE. 

THERE'S  been  the  dingdest  earthquake  in    what's 
called  our  social  status; 
All  the  gals  we  called  "our  ownest"  now  they 

scarcely  will  look  at  us! 
We  have  plenty  faith  in  beauty,  but  we  have  no  place 

to  pin  it, 

For  the  gals  make  no  concealment  of  the  fact  that  we 
ain't  in  it 

Since  them  volunteers  came  home 
From 

Santiago ! 

Through  the  spring  and  through  the  summer  days,  we 

scarcely  need  to  mention, 
We  took  those  gals  to  picnics  and  we  showed  'em  much 

attention; 
And  they  cheerfully  attended  ev'ry  dance  held  in  their 

honor, 

68 


A  MURMUR  FROM  MUDVILLE.  69 


But  there's  something  seems  to  whisper  to  us  each, 
"Oh!   you're  a  goner!" 
Since  them  volunteers  came  home 
From 

Santiago ! 

Of  course  we  don't  belittle  all  the  yarns  them  lads  are 

tellin', 
How  they  stormed  the  hills  of  Cuba  with  the  Spaniards 

round  them  yellin'; 
But  what  hurts  us  is  to  notice  Sal  and  Jane  and  Sue  and 

others 

All  a-huggin'  them,  doggone  it!   just  the  same  as  they 
were  brothers 

Since  them  volunteers  came  home 
From 

Santiago! 

Course,  our  motives  they  is  honest,  and  you  mustn't 

misconstrue  'em; 
Let  them  fighters  have  the  glory,  let  them  have  all  that 

is  due  'em — 
But  it  does  seem  kind  of  meanish,  and  it  makes  our 

voices  husky 


70  A  MURMUR  FROM  MUDVILLE. 


When   we  think  the  gals  that  loved   us   hard  should 
throw  us  down  'McCloskey 

Since  them  volunteers  came  home 
From 

Santiago! 


YESTERDAY  AND  TODAY. 

SEEMS  like  'twuz  only  yistiddy  I  helped  sweet  Mandy 
make 
The  stuffin'  fer  the  turkey,  an'  the  big  Thanksgivin' 

cake. 

Seems  on'y  yistiddy  we  sat  'longside  the  blazin'  logs, 
My  Mandy  in  her  gingham  frock,  an*  me  in   Sunday 

togs, 
An'  thar  discussed  the  future,  while  the  sparks  about 

us  flew, 

A'promisin'  each  other  that  we'd  be  forever  true. 
But  now, I'm  weary  longin'  fer  a  face  I  never  see — 
These  holidays  is  tearful  times  fer  old,  old  folks  like 
me. 

Seems  like  'twuz  on'y  yistiddy  we  sung  our  love's  re- 
frain, 

A'walkin'  whar  the  autumn  leaves  wuz  scattered  roun' 
the  lane. 

Seems  on'y  yistiddy  we  sat  together  on  the  stile, 

71 


72  YESTERDAY  AND  TODAY. 


Me  floatin'  through  life's  dearest  dream,  a'baskin'  in 

her  smile. 
The  clouds  wuz  painted  crimson  whar  the  sun  sank  in 

the  west, 
An*  all  the  world  was  jus*  a  place  whar  love  lulled  me 

to  rest. 
But  now  the  sky  is  gray,  and  cold  the  wind  blows  'crost 

the  lea— 
These  holidays  is  tearful  times  fer  old,  old  folks  like  me. 

Seems  like  t'wuz  on'y  yistiddy  we  heerd  the  parson 

pray, 

An*  offer  up  his  meed  of  praise  upon  Thanksgivin'  day. 
Seems  on'y  yistiddy  we  sat  thar  in  sweet  Mandy's  pew, 
A'squeezin'  of  each  other's  hands,  which  same  meant, 

"I  love  you." 

I  hear  that  old  melodyum  a'wheezin'  in  the  loft, 
An'  "Rock  of  Ages"  floatin'  roun',  so  solem-like,  an' 

soft— 
But  now  the  church  has  crumbled,  'till  thar's  nothin' 

left  to  see— 
These  holidays  is  tearful  times  fer  old,  old  folks  like  me. 


YESTERDAY  AND  TODAY.  73 


Seems  like  'twuz  on'y  yistiddy  I  led  her  to  our  home, 
An*  thar  from  happiness  supreme  we  never  thought  to 

roam. 

Seems  on'y  yistiddy  us  two,  together  hand  in  hand, 
Set  out  on  life's  broad  road  that  leads  unto  a  happier 

land. 
I  hear  her  whisperin'  to  me  yet,  "  'Till  death  us  two 

will  part, 
I'll  comfort  you  in  weal  or  woe,   and  love  you,  my 

sweetheart!" 
But  now  a  lonely  grave  is  all  these  eyes  of  mine  can 

see — 
These  holidays  is  tearful  times  fer  old,  old  folks  like  me. 


WIDOW  JONES'  JIMMY. 

GOIN'  to  the  deppo'? 
Everybody  is! 
Takin'  a  vacation 

From  our  daily  biz. 
Togged  in  finest  feathers; 

Know  what  it  is  for? 
Widow  Jones'  Jimmy 
Comin'  home  from  war. 


Mudville's  all  excited, 

Holiday  declared; 
Everybody  loafin', 

Best  suits  gettin'  aired. 
Cornet  band  is  tootin', 

Ready  for  to  play: 
Widow  Jones'  Jimmy 

Comin'  home  today. 


74 


WIDOW  JONES'  JIMMY.  75 


Jimmy's  been  in  Cuba, 

Made  a  record  there; 
Proved  himself  a  hero, 

Papers  all  declare. 
Nothin'  here  in  Mudville 

Ain't  too  good  for  him, 
Greater  man  than  Hobson- 

Widow  Jones'  Jim. 


'Fore  he  went  to  Cuba 

People  used  to  say: 
"Never  'mount  to  nothin'; 

Allus  be  a  jay!" 
Used  to  be  so  lazy, 

So  his  neighbors  said, 
Didn't  want  to  carry 

Good  sense  in  his  head. 


'Fore  he  went  to  Cuba 
Neighbors  would  remark: 

"Hate  to  meet  that  feller, 
'Specially  after  dark!" 


WIDOW  JONES    JIMMY. 


Socially  neglected 
Almost  ev'ry where; 

W'hat  he  did  or  didn't 
No  one  seemed  to  care. 


When  the  country  called  for 

Volunteers  we  heard, 
But  we  was  so  busy 

No  one  ever  stirred, 
'Cept  the  Widow's  Jimmy, 

He  was  heard  to  say: 
"Mudville  must  be  in  it! 

So,  I'm  off!     Good  day!" 

Goin'  to  the  deppo'? 

Everybody's  there! 
All  the  village  people; 

Folks  from  ev'rywhere, 
Dressed  up  in  their  finest; 

Know  What  it  is  for? 
Widow  Jones'  Jimmy 

Comin'  home  from  war 


JOURNALISM  IN  MUDVILLE. 

GIT  me  my  slippers,  Marthy, 
I'm  through  with  all  my  chores; 
Git  at  yer  knittin',  Marthy, 
An'  put  th'  cat  out  doors. 
Close  up  th'  windy  shetters, 
An'  poke  th'  log  ablaze, 
I'll  read  th'  Weekly  Bugle 
An'  see  what's  new  these  days. 

"The  Bugle  says  here,  Marthy, 

That  Squire  Wiggin's  cow 
Hez  swallyed  of  a  turnip, 

An'  choked  itse'f  somehow; 
Th'  Perkinses  is  hevin' 

Tarnation  cats  to  pay — 
Th'  Bugle  says  as  twinses 

Is  visitin'  their  way. 


77 


78  JOURNALISM  IN  MUDVILLE. 


"The  Bugle  says  here,  Marthy, 

That  Lijah  Smithers'  barn 
Is  ha'nted  now  by  speerits — 

Ain't  that  a  awful  yarn? 
An'  Lemuel  Quiggin's  heifer 

Is  locked  up  in  the  pound, 
An'  Lem,  hisself  uncarin', 

Is  galavantin'  round. 


"An*  here  it  says  Doc  Squiggles 

Hez  sold  his  furnityure, 
An'  gone  up  to  th'  city 

To  take  th'  Keeley  cure. 
An'  Liza  Bell  McFadden, 

A  widder  jist  a  year, 
Is  goin'  to  marry  Muggins, 

Th'  travelin'  auctioneer! 


"Bill  Perkins'  daughter,  Myrtle, 
Hez  got  th'  scarlet  rash; 

An'  Jedidiah  Jimpson 
Is  raisin'  a  moustache! 


JOURNALISM  IN  MUDVILLE.  79 


Th'  sewin'  circle  wimmen 
Hez  had  another  spat; 

An'  Obidiah  Wiggins 
Hez  lost  his  Thomas  cat! 


"Josiah  Tibbitt's  daughter 

Is  tendin'  singin'  school; 
Bill  Duff  is  to  be  married — 

He  allus  was  a  fool! 
An'  here — tarnation  crickets! 

That  settles  it;    I'm  done— 
Th'  Bugle  hez  discovered 

Thar's  black  spots  on  th'  sun! 


"'B'gosh,  all  hemlock!     Marthy, 

Th'  Bugle's  cuttin'  capers, 
An'  follerin'  in    the  footsteps 

Of  them  'ere  city  papers. 
Ain't  nuthin'  in  it  lately 

But  jist  sensation'lism — 
Th'  Bugle's  gone  an'  done  it! 

It's  yaller  journalism!" 


UNCLE  JOSHUA'S  JUBILEE  ODE. 

B'EN  readin'  in  the  papers  about  the  good  old  Queen, 
An*  as  how  her  celebrashun   is  the   finest  ever 

seen. 
Big  crowds  hez  crossed  the  ocean  to  see  the  mighty 

show, 

An'  others  is  lamentin'  a'cause  they  couldn't  go. 
I  reckon  'tis  a  treat  fer  to  observe  a  jubilee — 
But  the  Stars  and  Stripes  ferever — they  is  good  enough 
fer  me! 

B'en   readin'   how   as    Dukeses   from   all   them   furrin 

lands 

Is  there,  as  well  as  Princes  from  Injia's  coral  strands; 
There's   Markises   an'   Earlses,   an'  big  guns    by    the 

score, 

A'bowin'  an'  a'scrapin',  an'  a'bendin'  to  the  floor. 
It's  mighty  fine,  I  reckon,  to  'tend  a  jubilee — 
But  the  Stars  and  Stripes  ferever— they  is  good  enough 

fer  me! 

80 


UNCLE  JOSHUA'S  JUBILEE  ODE.  81 


I  hears  as  how  theres  sojers  with  uniforms  so  gay 
That   London  needs  no  sunshine  to  brighten  up  the 

day; 

From  Halifax  an'  Cape  Town  the  troops  come  march- 
in*  in, 

An'  everythin'  is  slicker  than  a  brand-new  safety  pin. 
It's  might  peart  an'  perky  at  a  fuss-class  jubilee — 
But  the  Stars  and  Stripes  ferever — they  is  good  enough 
fer  me! 

I  hears  as  how  the  lion  is  a'roarin'  mighty  loud; 

An'  the  unycorn  a'standin'  on  his  horn,  he  feels  that 

proud; 

They  tells  me  Rule  Britannia  is  a'rulin'  where  it's  wet; 
An'  the  sun  looks  kinder  tired  'cause  it  hez  no  place  to 

set. 
Oh!    thar's  high  jinks,  I'm    allowing    at    a    fuss-class 

jubilee — 
But  the  Stars  and  Stripes  ferever — they  is  good  enough 

fer  me! 

So   I   drinks  to  Queen  Victor'e,  an'  her  celebrashun, 

too! 
She's  a  mighty  fine  old  lady,  an'  a  woman  good    an' 

true; 


82  UNCLE  JOSHUA'S  JUBILEE  ODE. 


An'  I  hopes  the  years  will  bless  her  as  they  hez  done 

in  the  past, 
An'  that  this  here  celebrashun  ain't  a'goin  to  be  her 

last; 

But  as  fer  participatin'  further  in  the  jubilee — 
Well,  the  Stars  an'  Stripes  ferever — they  is  good  enough 

fer  me! 


THE  HERO  IN  RAGS. 

IT  doesn't  take  no  war  to  show  jus*  what  is  in  a  man, 
Fer  Peace  can  furnish  chances  jus'  as  well  as  battles 

can. 
Down  here  in  quiet  Mudville  is  the  last  place  'at  you'd 

seek 
To  find  a  firs'-class  hero,  but  we  turned  out  one  las' 

week! 
A  grand  an'  noble  feller,  of    the    love-your-neighbor 

stamp — 
A  hero  masqueradin'  as  a  low-down-ornery  tramp. 

What!    Ain't  you  heerd  the  story  yet?    Well,   where 

have  you  been  at? 
It's  known  in  ev'ry  household  right  clean    down    to 

Griggses  Flat! 
Las'  Tuesday — yes,  las'  Tuesday — jus'  about  this  time 

of  day, 
The  town  police — Jim  Patterson,  by  name — was  on  his 

way 

Up  home  to  dinner  when  he  met  a  man  in  dust  an'  rags 
What  looked  as  though  he  spent  his  time  a-testin'  empty 

kags. 

Our  town  police — Jim  Patterson,   by  name — has  won 
renown 


84  THE    HERO    IN    RAGS. 


Per  keepin'  Mudville  free  from  tramps  an'  chasin'  them 
from  town; 

So  Jim  he  grabs  the  tramp  an*  says:  "But  you're  a 
dandy,  though!" 

The  tramp  says,  "Yes;  jus'  drew  a  prize  down  at  a 
beauty  show!" 

"An'  sassy,  too,  I  see!"  says  Jim;  "well,  you  bes'  perco- 
late!" 

"All  right;  good-bye!"  the  tramp  replies;  "I'll  hop  the 
flyin'  freight!" 

Well,  life's  a  game  of  cards,  an'  no  one  knows  what's  in 

the  deal! 
The  tramp  he  moseys  fer  the  freight,  an'  Jim  goes  fer 

his  meal. 

It's  gettin'  kinder  dusky  now,  an'  shadders  fill  the  air; 
The  station-agent's  settin',  snoozin',  easy  in  his  chair; 
The  wind  begins  complainin'  to  the  trees  up  on  the  hill, 
An'  everythin'  is  countrified,  an'  peaceful-like,  an'  still. 

Now,  little  Rosie  Patterson,  the  daughter  of  our  Jim, 
Had  been  down  there  to  Sarah  Primes  a-practisin'  a 

hymn, 

Fer  she  was  solo  singist  in  the  Presbyterian  choir — 
No  gal  in  all  the  village  had  a  voice  'at  could  go  higher! 


THE    HERO    IN    RAGS.  85 


She  started  'crost  the  railroad,  an'  out  on  the  North- 
bound track 

Her  foot  got  caught,  an'  do  her  best  she  couldn't  pull 
it  back. 

Then  up  the  grade  about  a  mile  a  startlin'  whistle  blew; 
Poor  little  Rosie  heerd  its  screetch — the  fast  express 

was  due! 
She  moaned  an'  cried  an'  called  fer  help,  but  no  one 

made  reply — 

Nobody  ever  cared  to  watch  the  fast  express  go  by. 
Chucky  chuck!    chucky  chuck!  it's  rushin'  down    the 

grade,  an'  there  she  stands, 
A-prayin'  out  her  very  soul,  with  pleadin',  out-stretched 

hands! 

It's  comin'  nearer!  nearer!  see  that  awful  blindin' 
light! 

Her  pretty  eyes  are  closed,  an'  all  grows  black  as  deep- 
est night, 

When,  suddenly! — her  shoe! — unlaced! — free  from  the 
track  she  reels, 

Safe! — but,  God's  grace!  what's  that?  a  man  beneath 
the  wheels! 

All  crushed  an'  bleedin',  on  his  brow  the  Death  mark, 
cold  an'  damp — 

He  gave  his  life  that  she  might  live — that  ornery  lookin' 
tramp! 


86  THE    HERO    IN    RAGS. 


They  took  him  in  the  deppo'  an'  they  tried  to  ease  his 

pain; 
Jim  Patterson  he  held  him,  an*  his  tears  poured  down 

like  rain. 
The  tramp  he  opened  up  his  eyes,  but  didn't  seem    to 

know 
Jus'  what  had  happened,  fer  he  said  to  Jim,  "All — right — 

I'll— go! 
I'll  mosey  —  mosey  —  down  —  an'  —  hop  —  the  —  flyin' 

—freight!"  he  said, 
"But — I'm — so — tired — please — excuse — "  he  smiled  an' 

fell  back,  dead. 

Out  in  the  little  graveyard  there's  a  new-made  mound 

of  clay; 

A  hero'll  sleep  beneath  it  till  the  final  Judgment  Day. 
He  wasn't  grand  to  look  upon,  ner  great  as  great  men 

goes, 

But  still  he  had  a  noble  heart  beneath  them  ragged 
clothes; 

An'  on  the  cross  above  his  grave  the  simple  facts  we 
tell: 

"He  was  an  outcast  here  on  earth,  but  God  will  treat 
him  well!" 


MY  LEEDLE  FRITZ. 

DER  day  is  done  und  der  shadows  play 
Vare  he  sleeps — my  leedle  Fritz! 
Und  der  curious  moonbeams  sofdly  sdray 

Vare  he  sleeps — my  leedle  Fritz! 
His  vite  vooly  dog  lies  on  his  breast, 
Und  der  monkey  on  a  stick  vot  he  luffed  der  best 
In  his  small  chubby  hants  is  closely  press'd — 
Und  he  sleeps — my  leedle  Fritz! 

Der  night  vinds  call,  but  he  doan'd  reply, 

For  he  sleeps — my  leedle  Fritz! 
Den  dey  vander  avay  mit  a  mournful  sigh, 

Bud  he  sleeps — my  leedle  Fritz! 
His  blue  Noah's  Ark  stants  on  der  floor, 
Und  Shem  und  Ham  keep  vatch  in  der  door, 
Bud  he  doan'd  come  und  talk  mit  dem  no  more, 

For  he  sleeps — my  leedle  Fritz! 


88  MY    LEKDLE   FRITZ. 


Der  vorld  is  a  dark  und  lonely  blace 

Ven  he  sleeps — my  leedle  Fritz! 
For  der  light  uf  der  sun  vas  in  his  face, 

Und  he  sleeps — my  leedle  Fritz! 
His  toys  dey  are  stanting  all  in  a  row, 
Und  his  leedle  rocky  horse  id  vispers  low: 
"Der  angels  vanted  him  back,  und  so 
He  sleeps — our  leedle  Fritz! 


JEEMS. 

THE  strangest  thing  has  happened  to  my  little  grand- 
son, Jeems; 
Fer  when  I  mention  war  news,  why  that  youngster 

fairly  beams! 
'N'  when  the  weekly  paper  comes  up  from  the  village 

store, 
He  runs  'n'  gets  my  specs  'n'  sits  expectant    on    the 

floor. 

'N'  then  he  drinks  in  ev'ry  word  that  paper  has  to  say; 
'N'  after  that  he  never  seems  to  have  much  heart  for 
play. 

We  found  him  out  behind  the  barn,  come  Tuesday  is  a 

week, 
A'wearing   of  his   father's   cap — the   one   that    has    a 

peak — 
'N'  talking  loud  to  Towser,  which  the  same  is  just  a 

pup, 

89 


JEEMS. 


A'saying  words  like  "Shoulder  harms!  Attention,  com- 
pany! Hup!" 

'N'  when  I  ast  him  what  it  meant,  he  said,  "Well, 
Grandma,  dear, 

It  ain't  no  tellin'  when  they'll  need  another  volunteer!" 


fN'  yistiday  we  lost  him — couldn't  find  him  high  ner 

low, 

Until  I  searched  the  garret,  where  my  dearest  relics  go; 
'N'  there  was  Jeems  a'trying  for  to  lift  a  rusty  gun — 
The  one  his  Grandpa  carried  'fore  his  work  on  earth 

was  done. 

His  Grandpa's  faded  army  coat,  too  big  for  him  a  mile, 
He  had  put  on  to  give  himself  a  military  style. 


"It  ain't  no  tellin',"  then  says  Jeems,  "jus'  when  they'll 

want  me,  so 
I  thought  I'd  jus'   get  used  to  guns— but  ain't    they 

heavy,  though! 
'N'  Grandpa's  coat — it  mus'  have  been  some  time  since 

it  was  wored! 


JEEMS.  91 


'N'  look  here  in  the  shoulder,  was  that  where  a  bullet 

tored?" 

I  couldn't,  not  for  all  the  world,  to  that  dear  boy  reply, 
Fer,  bein'  just  a  woman,  why  I  had  to  go  'n'  cry. 

Today  Jeems  come  to  me  'n'  says,   "Now,   Gran'ma, 

won't  you  write 

'N'  tell  my  papa  in  the  war  I'm  ready,  too,  to  fight!" 
I  kissed  him  on  his  curly  hair,  'n'  says,  "Perhaps  I  will," 
'N'  he  marched  off  with  Towser  to  resume  his  daily 

drill. 

He's  a  very  little  fellow,  but  I  wouldn't  try  to  quell 
That  spirit — it  would  be  no  use,  'cause  blood  is  sure  to 

tell. 


DAS  KLEINE  KIND. 

DARE'S  a  fairy  comes  und  leads  him 
Down  der  lane  to  Drowsytown, 
Und  der  Night  yust  in  his  honor 

Vares  her  fery  bestest  gown, 
Und  der  boys  vot  lif  in  Dreamland 

All  come  ouid  to  take  a  peep, 
Ven  das  kleine  kind  is  blinking, 
Vinking, 
Sinking 
Into  sleep. 

All  der  road  is  filled  mit  blossoms 

From  der  flowers  uf  Forget; 
Und  der  stars  dey  visper  ad  him: 

"Ve  are  here,  alretty  yet, 
Und  undil  der  daylight's  dawning 
Over  you  a  vatch  ve'll  keep" — 
Ven  das  kleine  kind  is  blinking, 
Vinking, 
Sinking 
Into  sleep. 


DAS   KLEINE    KIND.  93 


Den  dot  fairy  dells  him  stones 
Vot  is  moosic,  vild  und  free; 
Und  dey  fload  on  vare  der  moonlight 

Makes  a  soft  und  siffery  sea; 
Vile  der  vaves  of  sweet  condentment 
All  arount  dem  dance  und  leap — 
Ven  das  kleine  kind  is  blinking, 
Vinking, 
Sinking 
Into  sleep. 

Den  dot  fairy  leads  him  through  der 

Gates  of  Drowsytown  to  vare 
All  der  poppy  children  greet  him 

At  der  place  called  Shut-eye  Square; 
Den  togedder  mit  each  udder 

All  dare  seecrets  do  dey  keep — 
Und  das  kleine  kind  stops  blinking, 
Sinking, 
Sinking, 
Fast  asleep. 


FRITZ  VON  SNITZ. 

DiT  you  know  leedle  Fritz  Von  Snitz  ? 
Vee  leedle  Fritz! 
Fritz  Von  Snitz! 
He's  der  smardest  leedle  fellow 

Vot  you  nefer  saw,  yet; 
He's  as  preddy  as  a  picture, 
Und  you  couldn'd  forget 
His  sweet  leedle  laughings 

Uf  you  efer  dit  met — 
Dit  you  know  leedle  Fritz  Von  Snitz? 

Dit  you  know  leedle  Fritz  Von  Snitz? 
Vee  leedle  Fritz! 
Fritz  Von  Snitz! 
Ven  der  sky  id  gets  so  dreary 

Dot  der  black  shows  through, 
Him  und  me,  dot  leedle  fellow, 

Ve  haf  a  romp  or  two; 
Und  ven  I  know  he's  near  me, 

Veil,  I  vasn'd  so  blue — 
Dit  you  know  leedle  Fritz  Von  Snitz? 


FRITZ  VON  SNITZ.  95 


Dit  you  know  leedle  Fritz  Von  Snitz? 
Vee  leedle  Fritz! 
Fritz  Von  Snitz! 
Der  vorld  vould  be  so  embty 

Uf  he  vent  avay! 
Und  all  der  darkest  shadows 

Dey  vould  come  to  stay 
Uf  I  couldn'd  see  him  smiling 

Somedime  py  der  day — 
Dit  you  know  leedle  Fritz  Von  Snitz? 

Dit  you  know  leedle  Fritz  Von  Snitz? 
Vee  leedle  Fritz! 
Fritz  Von  Snitz! 
He  comes  mit  der  morning 

On  der  sun's  fairst  beams; 
He  comes  mit  der  tvilight, 

Ven  der  fairst  star  gleams — 
He  is  yust  a  leedle  fellow 

Vot  I  see  in  my  dreams — 
Haf  you  got  a  Fritz  Von  Snitz  ? 


DER  LEEDLE  VARRIORS. 

VEE  Gretchen  dakes  der  proomstick, 
Und  Hans  he  dakes  a  pan 
Und  beats  id  mit  a  teasboon, 

Yust  like  dot  bass  drum  man; 
Und  Fritz  he  vas  der  Cabdain, 
His  sword  a  palmleaf  fan — 
Ven  dey  go  to  fight  der  Spanish 
Down  in  Koobah. 

Der  foe  is  fery  careless, 

Dey  meet  him  eferyvare; 
Somedimes  dey  find  him  hiding 

Down  py  der  cellar  sdair, 
Und  den  dey  chump  ubon  him 
Und  grap  him  py  der  hair — 
Ven  dey  go  to  fight  der  Spanish 
Down  in  Koobah. 


" 

DER   LEEDLE  VARRIORS.  97 


Dey  dake  dare  Grampa's  bootchack 

To  make  a  catling  gun; 
Dey  load  id  mit  potatoes, 

Und  den  der  fight  is  vun, 
Pecause  der  foe  is  killded, 

Eggcepting  dem  vot  run — 
Ven  dey  go  to  fight  der  Spanish 
Down  in  Koobah. 


Und  ven  der  pattle  rayches, 
Dey  make  der  kitten  play 

A  cabdiff  in  der  duncheon, 
Midouid  no  milk  all  day; 

Und  den  dey  plan  a  rescoo 
Und  dake  dot  cat  avay — 

Ven  dey  go  to  fight  der  Spanish 
Down  in  Koobah. 


Und  ven  der  nighttimes  shadows 
Dare  swords  und  cannon  keep, 

Und  off  to  Dreamland's  playgrount 
Dem  leedle  solchers  creep, 


DER   LEEDLE  VARRIORS. 


Somedimes  I  hear  dem  visper: 

"Who  goes  dare?"  in  dare  sleep — 
Ven  dey  go  to  fight  der  Spanish 
Down  in  Koobah. 


MY  BOARD  OF  INQUIRY. 

Up  on  my  knees  they  clamber  when 
The  daylight  fades  and  dies 
Two  brave  but  liliputian  men 

With  knowledge-seeking  eyes, 
Who  ply  their  questions  right  and  left 

With  such  persistency 
That  I  of  answers  am  bereft — 
My  Board  of  Inquiry. 

They  ask  such  questions — I  declare 

I  don't  know  what  to  say! 
They  ask  me  if  God  dyed  my  hair 

Just  by  mistake  with  grey? 
They  ask  me  where  the  night-time  goes; 

And  if  the  stars  they  see 
Are  angels'  candles  set  in  rows? — 

My  Board  of  Inquiry. 


99 


100  MY    BOARD    OF    INQUIRY. 


They  ask  me  where  the  Sand-man  keeps 

His  little  bags  of  sand? 
And  if  the  Moon-man  ever  peeps 

Into  the  Promised  Land? 
They  ask  me  when  the  breezes  sigh 

And  sob  so  drearily 
If  they're  just  telling  us  good-bye? — 

My  Board  of  Inquiry. 


They  ask  me  if  God  makes  the  clouds 

From  cotton  wool  why  He 
Won't  use  them  just  to  clothe  the  crowds 

Of  ragged  boys  they  see? 
And  when  it  rains,  the  bright  blue  sky 

How  wet  it  all  must  be! 
How  does  it  manage  to  get  dry? — 

My  Board  of  Inquiry. 


They  ask  me  if  the  sun  is  not 
Ashamed  to  go  to  bed, 

Because  they  noticed  that  it  got, 
At  bedtime,  rosy  red. 


MY    BOARD    OF    INQUIRY.  IOI 


They  ask  if  angels  tie  tin  cans 

To  comets'  tails,  and  see 
At  night,  for  that,  the  bogie-mans? — 

My  Board  of  Inquiry. 

They  ask  me  does  the  poor  moon  hate 

To  wake  up  in  the  night 
And  find  that  it's  so  very  late, 

And  not  a  soul  in  sight? 
And  do  the  angels  have  to  pay 

For  cream,  and  can  they  see 
The  cows  up  in  the  Milky  Way? — 

My  Board  of  Inquiry. 


Then  in  my  arms  they  cuddle  down, 

Nor  wait  for  my  replies; 
For  they  are  bound  for  Sleepy  Town, 

Where  all  their  "ifs"  and  "whys," 
Where  all  their  theories  and  themes 

Are  answered  speedily 
By  fairies  in  the  Land  of  Dreams — 

My  Board  of  Inquiry. 


TOMMY'S  CHRISTMAS  TREE. 


w 


E  ain't  got  no  Chris'mus  tree, 

'Cause  my  Mamma's  husban'  he 
'1st  forgot  he  has  a  kid, 

'At's  what  my  Ma's  husban'  did. 


Pa,  'at's  my  Ma's  husban',  says 
Trees  ain't  fash'able  these  days; 
Ast  him  why,  an'  Pa  says  "  'cause 
Don't  believe  in  Santa  Claus!" 

Says  he  hates  the  noise  an'  fuss, 
Makes  him  aggravate  an'  cuss; 
Don't  see  why  Ma  keeps  him,  he 
Ain't  no  use  'at  I  can  see. 

'F  me  was  him  an'  him  was  me, 
Bet  I'd  have  a  Chris'mus  tree; 
Ma  'ist  smiles  an'  says  "too  bad!" 
'At  'ist  makes  me  awful  mad. 


TOMMY  S   CHRISTMAS  TREE.  IO3 


Other  little  boys  has  Pas 
What  believes  in  Santa  Claus; 
Hate  mean  Pas — I'll  tell  him  so 
'1st  as  soon  as  I  can  grow. 

Wisht  Ma  lock  him  out  tonight 
When  he  comes;    'ist  serve  him  right; 
Make  him  stay  out  there,  an*  then 
Gobulins  an'  bogie  men 

Ketch  him  'fore  the  mornin'  come — 
Bet  you  then  I'd  have  a  drum, 
An'  a  whistle  'at  I'd  blow, 
Whether  he  don't  like  er  no. 

Wisht— why,  here's  Pa,  an'  I  see 
'At  he's  brought  a  Chris'mus  tree; 
Says  he  thought  he'd  fool  the  kid — 
'At's  'ist  what  Ma's  husban'  did! 


I 


THE  WEE  ONE'S  WISHES. 

WISHT  I  was  a  drate  big  King, 

The  bigges'  ever  seen! 
'En  nights  'at  wasn't  Tris'mas  Eve 

I'd  make  'em  Hollow  E'en. 
An'  'en  I'd  go  an1  tell  my  Pa, 

"See  here,  you,  Pa!"  I'd  say, 
"Now  you  jus'  dare  to  call  me  in 
When  I  go  out  to  play!" 
I  wisht 
I  was 
A  King! 

I  wisht  I  was  a  drate  big  King, 

I'd  buy  some  tickets  so 
'At  I  could  see  the  circus,  an* 

I  dess  I'd  let  Pa  go. 
But  ef  he  made  me  study  at 

My  jogerfy  I  jus' 
Would  leave  him  home,  'tause  like  as  not 

He'd  aggervate  an'  fuss — 
I  wisht 
I  was 

A  King! 
104 


THE   WEE   ONE  S   WISHES.  105 


I  wisht  I  was  a  drate  big  King, 

I  know  what  I'd  do  with 
A  boy  'at  always  chases  me, 
His  name  is  Bobby  Smith! 
I'd  buy  a  big  perliceman's  club, 

A  dog,  an'  'en  a  gun, 
An'  'en  I'd  say  to  Bobby  Smith: 
"You  dasn't  make  me  run!" 
I  wisht 
I  was 
A  King! 

I  wisht  I  was  a  drate  big  King, 

I'd  bring  my  Mama  here; 
Pa  says  she's  up  'ere  in  the  skies, 

An'  'en  he  calls  me  "Dear;" 
His  eyes  gets  full  of  tearses,  too, 

'En  he  don't  speak  at  all. 

I  dess  I'd  go  an'  get  my  Ma 

Ef  I  was  not  so  small — 

I  wisht 

I  was 

A  King! 


X/P>       I  *~*'~!J?<r* 

,YB   Io7 1 v 


H279075 

\  J 


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